Marked

Urho stepped onto the porch with a stern expression.

"It's not good friend. You need to go to the village."

Silvan grabbed his shoulders to get a good look at Urhos face.
"What do you know? What's wrong with Jasper?"

Urho didn't even try to hide his concern.
"Come."

He pulled the bedsheets back.
"Look."

Silvan studied the injury again. It looked just as bad as before. He was about to ask Urho what he was on about when he spotted it.
"It's spreading..."

Urho nodded. Then pulled him close.
"You need to go to the shaman. Now. Tell them about Jasper. Tell her what happened and she will help."

"I can't just leave him here. Can't you bring her here instead?"

Urho thought for a second and shook his head.
"No friend. You have to go. Now. I will stay."

Silvans looked at the injury. Then at Urho. He had this certainty in his eyes that had never betrayed him before.
"Alright." he finally agreed. At the eastern foot right?

Urho nodded now smiling again.

He packed some things. Tools, clothes and other things he deemed might come in handy and was already out the door 5 minutes later.

"Wait friend!"

Urho was uneasy.

"What's up?"

He shuffled on the spot looking off into the distance. Finally he slid his rifle off his back and pushed it onto Silvan with a bit more force than was necessary.

"Precaution", he answered to Silvans confusion. "Might need it."
"Stay strong friend."

He looked down at the rifle. Although a different model than his old one his hands remembered the weight well.
Even with his mixed heritage Urho is a respected member. A skilled hunter and true Inuit. If he handed him his rifle the one thing he shouldn't do is refuse it.

Silvan nodded then strapped it over his shoulder.
"Thank you. Stay strong."


Silvan focused on his march. He knew where the Inuit gathered this time of the year but following Urhos footprints back reassured him. As if noticing this the weather quickly swung and thick snow began falling. It didn't take long till his markers were gone. Although not dangerous the thick flakes impaired visibility. If not for the Mountain serving as a landmark, hed be walking in circles by now.

Silvan soldiered on thinking about Jasper and Urho. Tripping more than once on uneven terrain, hidden under the white blankets. His clothes began soaking more with every sinking step he took, inviting the cold in. Thoughts of blackened toes and other issues that awaited him if he got lost began forming. He kept his eyes up but still imagined himself missing the village by a few inches hidden behind the white curtains surrounding him.

Then he heard it, shuffling. Maybe someone from the village? Urho was still out on his visit after all. Maybe then sent a few people out to catch him in this weather?

"Hello?"

No response.

He looked around but saw nothing. Probably just snow falling off a branch. Then he saw it. Difficult to see, motionless and on his path. He armed himself and began shouting at the wolf. Unimpressed it wandered off.

His heart was pounding as he ignored the creeping pain in his feet and pressed forward with increased pace. On high alert he could make out their noises. They tried staying silent and out of sight but it was clear now.
They're stalking me.

He began panicking as the first stifled grunts and barks sounded. A clear sign of an ending stalk and the beginning of a hunt. His senses were working in overtime. Tracking the numerous shadows closing in.
In desperation he fired a warning shot in the air.
The echo was muffled by the snowfall but it was enough to buy him some time as puffs of snow scurried away from him.

In his rush to make meaningful distance his foot caught on something under the snow and he took a plunge. He raised his head to bared fangs. He rose slowly. His ears and the moving silhouettes in the corner of his eyes informing him of his predicament.
He was surrounded.

Still half buried in the fresh snow he carefully searched through it, stopping only when his finger found the buried rifle. Not ready to keel over just yet he weighed his options. Too many to fight off. He might get one, maybe two shots off if he was lucky and precise. Then be torn to shreds. Perhaps if he got the head of the pack, the others might disperse?

Still buried under the snow he angled his gun at the ringleader before him. It's growl growing in intensity.
There was no anger in it's eyes. Only intent. It too only followed it's own path. By pure chance they converged here. He thought about the countless animals he'd caught in his time here. But this time he was the rabbit and the pack his snare.

He locked eyes with the wolf, its foul breath warming his face. For a moment the world stood still. Not still, but slow. This was his final moment. Nothing he did now mattered anymore.

He let go of the trigger, using his free hand to trace the outline of the bottle in his pocket instead. A grim reminder of a broken promise.

He thought about Sila. How she refused his invitation, leaving him to eat the rabbit alone.

Recalling her words, he almost laughed. So that was why the Inuit sent each other off like this.

Saddened, but content, he spoke his final words to the predator, just as Sila understood and Urho had taught him.

“Stay strong, friend.”